


Reaching the Limit

by susies_fandom_wonders



Series: Under the Mask [13]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Choking, Gen, Suicidal Ideation, hersh is in pain this entire time, i don't know what relationship category this falls into this is a forced thing?, please read the archive warnings i have, poor hersh, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 19:18:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17269553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susies_fandom_wonders/pseuds/susies_fandom_wonders
Summary: Sparrow wants to make Hersh scream.





	Reaching the Limit

Professor Layton stared at the pencil in his hands. Chewed up, the lead was finally beginning to become visible once more. He could feel the small splinters of wood in his mouth, still, and he poked his tongue into the crevices between his teeth to free the remaining pieces, breaking them up before letting them sit on his tongue.

The piece of gum that one of his guards had given him rested heavily in his pocket, a calling reminder that he could use it in hopes to sate his twisting stomach. He didn’t want to, however hungry he may be – that small stick of gum was the only small piece of hope that somebody still cared about him, now. He didn’t think that his family – or the Tritons, the Ledores, Randall – would forget about him; neither would his colleagues, or his students, who so faithfully followed his lectures and small tangents on archaeology not related to his lesson. If they weren’t looking for him, then who was he?

It had felt like years. Surely they should have found him already…?

He stared at the little piece of wood and graphite in his hand, the urge to stab it into his windpipe leaving him breathless. Countless scenarios flickered past his eyelids, invisible to the others outside, of all the ways he could feasibly kill himself. His gaze flickered up to the cement pillar on the opposite side of the room. Surely he could find a way to hang himself from the chains there if he grew desperate enough?

The Professor looked back down at the pencil, wishing he could write what he was feeling in his journal – he had woken from one of the first dreamless sleeps during his stay here to find it missing once again, taken by Bronev to no doubt leaf through again for any information on the Azran.

If he was truly so useless to Bronev’s cause, why continue to take that journal from him?

Hershel looked down at the dirty cement floor. Maybe his entry would fare better off on the ground. No one could take that from him.

Taking his hat off and placing it on the ground next to him, Hershel leaned down to the ground, squinting in the dim light, placing a small, gray line in the cement floor, testing if he could see it.

He could.

Looking up at the steel door, Hershel listened carefully, staring at the white light filtering in through the bars of the small window in it. When he heard nothing that signified someone was coming to him, he allowed his mind to wander to Claire, the only person he knew was real outside of this hell he was being forced to live through – maybe this was all just a horrible dream. Maybe he’d finally taken a hit hard enough on the head to put him in a coma that never ended.

That posed a new question, however, among the countless others – if he were to die here, would he truly die…? Or would he wake up, as if nothing had ever happened.

 

_Journal ???:_  
_If this doesn’t end when I wake up next, I will end my life._  
_I’m sorry._

 

Hershel stared at the chicken scratch that had become his handwriting, deep in thought and feeling a wave of calm wash over him the longer that he stared at the words. He had decided. This was it. The wooden pencil clattered to the ground with a hollow sound, echoing off the walls. One of the guards – no doubt the one who had given him the stick of gum – poked their head into view through the bars. Hershel wanted to laugh, despite the agony and the growing numbness that was overtaking his mind. The sound never left his throat, but his shoulders trembled with the invisible force of it, a hand making its way to his still throbbing eye, and something warm trickled down his cheek, cooling instantly in the cool air. He touched the liquid, holding it into the light shining onto the floor from outside his cell.

Just tears. The Professor wouldn’t have been surprised if it was blood. His lips curled back into a grimace.

The door opened. Hershel looked over, then felt whatever color was in his face drain as Sparrow walked in, turning Hershel’s journal in his hands as he regarded Hershel with an unreadable expression.

“Nothing useful for us again, Professor. Boss says you’re disappointing him more and more every time he reads this thing.” He threw the small, leatherbound book at the Professor, the journal bouncing off his arm before hitting the floor. Hershel went to grab it, then let out a soft shout as his hand was stepped on, grinding his teeth together. Sparrow knelt down, a sick smile playing at his lips. “I believe I’ve been going easy on you this far. I must say, Professor, you’ve been surprising me with your self-control. Others would be screaming and begging me to stop, but _you_? You just take it, without a goddamned _sound_. It’s truly impressive – one only _wonders_ what sounds you truly make when you’ve unraveled.” Sparrow’s voice was smooth, silky and laced with venom.

Hershel’s breath was shaking, loud in his ears. His hand was beginning to go numb from the constant pressure of Sparrow’s foot on it, and his body was trembling violently. Sparrow’s grin widened, a Cheshire grin spreading across his face. He looked down, meeting Hershel’s gaze, and gave a light shrug.

“What would you call this little conundrum? A puzzle?” Sparrow finally moved his foot off of Hersh’s hand – the feeling of pins and needles followed soon after. “I’m very interested in solving this… _puzzle_ you’ve set out for me, Professor. Do tell me if I’m getting somewhere.”

Sparrow’s hand clamped around his neck, the other bracing the agent’s weight as he forced Hershel down to the ground. One of the professor’s hands reached to grab the one around his neck, making soft choking noises as he struggled to breathe, pushing at Sparrow’s arm. The agent’s grip was like steel and didn’t relent, and Hershel’s eyes went wide as the other straddled him, and his mouth opened in a silent gasp for breath as his vision darkened and his body began to feel heavy. Hershel could faintly feel himself struggling, gripping Sparrow’s arm harder and his body bucking, anything, _anything_ to get some air. 

The agent released his grip on Hershel’s throat, and as he gasped for air, heart pounding, Sparrow pressed his mouth against his, forcing his tongue in and grinding down against the Professor, a low groan slipping passed his throat, muffled against Hershel’s mouth.

The familiar sting of tears shot into Hershel’s senses, face tingling and hot, as Sparrow pulled away.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time,” Sparrow began, a low laugh sounding in his throat, as a hand slid down Hersh’s torso, and the agent shifted, letting out a soft groan. Hot tears began to trail down Hershel’s face, breathing hitching. “Why the tears, sweetheart?... Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you enjoy this.”

Hershel let out a soft whimper, shaking his head and not minding the dull headache that followed afterwards. His mouth worked, trying to form that simple word; even knowing that that wouldn’t stop Sparrow.

The word simply wouldn’t come, dying in his throat half-formed and coming out as choked whimpers instead. Sparrow tilted his head.

“What are you trying to tell me, Professor? Learn to speak up.” Sparrow’s hand drifted lower, then lower, reaching and unbuttoning Hershel’s pants. “Besides, it’s not like you tried very hard to stop me before. What makes you think I’ll stop now?”

The professor’s tears only came faster at the words, heart pounding faster and faster, and Hershel could only hope this ended quickly so he could finally act on the words he’d written on the ground; they were probably smeared by now, nearly illegible. Hershel screwed his eyes shut as he felt Sparrow’s hand slip passed his boxers, grazing his member before trailing farther down. Sparrow let out a frustrated sigh, then pulled his hand out and away.

“I can’t do anything with these in the way.” Sparrow’s weight on him disappeared, then both of Sparrow’s hands fixed on Hershel’s hips, fingers trailing underneath both Hersh’s waistband and boxers before pulling them both to the professor’s knees in one, fluid motion, leaving him exposed to the air. “This will do for now – these clothes were probably expensive, right, Professor? Would you have even fought back, had I ripped them?”

Hershel kept his eyes shut, trying to think about anything other than the situation he was in. He pictured Claire; tried to keep her in the forefront of his mind, as Sparrow placed his hand back in between his legs, humming in thought as a finger trailed around his entrance, and the soft rustling of fabric and the unzipping of the agent’s own pants was deafening in Hershel’s ears. The hand that was previously trailing around his entrance moved up to grip his member, beginning to pump up and down quickly. Hershel’s breathing picked up against his will, eyes shooting open and meeting Sparrow’s wild gaze, nearly letting out a harsh sob at the twisted form of pleasure beginning to course through his body.

“Question for you, sweetheart: How much more do you think you can take before you start screaming?” With Hersh’s member now erect, Sparrow let go of it, hand wrapping around the professor’s throat again as Sparrow pulled the professor’s pants and undergarments off the rest of the way before he pushed into him without any preparation. Hershel arched his back, and Sparrow loosened his grip on his neck as he let out a long, low moan as the professor finally let out a loud, pained scream that tapered off into harsh sob – the pressure was _too much, too much_. “Fuck – that’s it, sweetheart – _fuck_ , so this is what it takes to get you to scream?...”

“St – _stop_ –” Hershel cried, and Sparrow tightened his grip on the professor’s neck once more, cutting off his plea as Sparrow started moving, quiet moans tumbling passed his lips at every one of Hershel’s strangled screams, and his free hand wrapped around Hershel’s member once more, pumping with more fervor than before. The professor felt as if the breath was punched out of him every time Sparrow slammed back in, and his head grew lighter and lighter when he couldn’t draw in enough oxygen to account for his screams; and they quickly grew hoarse, then faded away into broken, breathless ones, body jerking and back arching – anything, _anything_ , to get away from the pain and growing pleasure in his body. Hershel felt nothing but disgust for the feelings he was experiencing – he was not supposed to be enjoying this – but he was. All it was was a circle of pain and fear and pleasure and _disgust_ so raw it made Hershel sick.

The professor turned his head, heaving violently, choking on his spit and wheezing from the lack of air, a dull pounding picking up in his head and his ears hearing nothing but a dull roar and his frantic heartbeat as the pleasure peaked, then cascaded over him as he came over his stomach. Sparrow choked out another moan, then a loud curse, then released his grip on both Hershel’s neck and member, instead leaning down to kiss the professor as the agent’s body shuddered, member twitching in him, and Hershel screamed weakly, stars exploding across his vision, as Sparrow’s release stretched his body even more, to the point where he could feel something tear in him. Sparrow moaned against his mouth as he finally began to slow, both their bodies trembling and shuddering in the aftereffects of their orgasms.

“See…?” Sparrow drawled out once he pulled away from Hershel’s mouth, breathing heavily. “I told you I’d make sure you enjoyed it.”

Hershel was sure he was going to pass out. This was it – who knew when he’d wake up next?

“Here, sweetheart – let me help you clean up.” Hershel let out a broken cry as Sparrow pulled away, slipping out of him. His vision was blurring, hearing becoming muffled, as Sparrow touched his body again, wiping up the come on his stomach with a piece of cloth from God-knows-where.

The professor drifted into unconsciousness before Sparrow’d even left.


End file.
